


First Love, Last Romance

by eiluned



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, Partnership, Pre-Avengers Movie, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiluned/pseuds/eiluned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Downtime, vodka, and a little too much honesty.  Clint discovers what his new partner really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Love, Last Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Enormous thanks to Amanda, SidheRa, and euphoricsound for their beta work on this! This is partly inspired by SidheRa's gorgeous fic "Painted Blind," which you should totally read. Feedback is more than welcome!
> 
> Companion artwork by [euphoricsound](http://euphoricsound.tumblr.com/post/37231934888).

It was the downtime after a mission and before extraction that was the worst part of it all.  Considering what he did for a living, that was a pretty sad statement.

Clint mainly just hated being bored.

Natasha had finally been cleared for field missions five months back, and since Fury subscribed to a "you break it, you buy it" line of thought, she'd been partnered with Clint.  Clint didn't mind, though; she was sharp and efficient and a damn good agent to have at your back.  Well, now that he knew she wasn't going to put a knife in his.

He'd kept up with her at HQ during the two years between her defection and their first mission together, and he had actually come to like her a lot.  Once he got past the ice queen mask she wore around other people, he found that she was smart and startlingly funny, dealing out scathing sarcasm in reply to his bad jokes from behind a perfectly deadpan exterior.

The other agents looked at him cock-eyed both for bringing her in and for befriending her, but they could go fuck themselves.  He never buddied up to any of them anyway.

But back to the story: they were in Kuala Lumpur, in a hotel suite that hadn't seen a renovation in the last thirty years, at least.  It was their ninth mission together, and Clint kept up with that sort of thing.  Natasha had produced a bottle of vodka from who knows where, and he'd been watching her drink from the bottle while he nursed the same, sad paper cupful for the last two hours.  He wasn't much on hard liquor--too many bad memories and bad genes--but he could hardly say no when she offered it to him.

So he was a little buzzed, and getting chatty seemed like a pretty good idea.  When Natasha didn't protest, he launched into The Story of Clint Barton, Chapters One through Twenty-Nine.  He really didn't know why he was telling her all of that shit, because he hadn't told anyone.  Fury knew, and Coulson, but they were his bosses.  It was their job to know.  He'd otherwise kept the whole sordid story to himself.

But Natasha... he knew she would understand his fucked up childhood with his alcoholic shit of a father and his poor, sad mother.  She would understand why he had run away from the foster homes with his brother, and she wouldn't judge that he'd ended up a goddamn criminal.

And she didn't.  She just sat at the other end of the couch and listened, taking occasional swigs from the bottle, and he imagined she was updating her mental file on him.

Their flight to New York didn’t depart for another six hours, so he moved on into Chapters Nineteen through Twenty-Three: The Army Years.

He took another sip of vodka that he was pretty sure could be used to strip paint off of walls.  "There were a few assholes in my unit who enlisted just because they wanted to kill people.  How fucked up is that, that they planned their lives around getting the opportunity to kill people?" he said, and he must have been more buzzed than he thought because the next thing out of his mouth sounded stupidly maudlin. "Me, I didn't want to kill people.  But... it's the only thing I'm good at."

Natasha's expression softened just a tiny bit, a change that was almost too small to really notice.  "That's not true," she said, and he couldn't quite believe that she was actually trying to cheer him up. "I've heard you're pretty good in bed."

That made him choke on his next sip of vodka, coughing out a laugh.  "So... gigolo or sniper," he said when he could talk again. "I don't think my guidance counselor gave me those options."

She smiled then, a subtle curve of her lips that he was learning was the equivalent of a toothy grin on anyone else, and he smiled back, leaning against the threadbare couch cushions.  "So I'm good in bed," he said, watching her expression out of the corner of his eye. "Where'd you hear that bullshit?"

"Oh, here and there," she replied nonchalantly, pulling her feet up underneath her.

With a self-deprecating laugh, Clint scrubbed his hand over his face.  "Well, here and there aren't up on their gossip, darlin'," he said, hiding a grin behind his hand at the look she flashed him at that nickname.

Sitting on her knees with her legs folded underneath her, she looked younger than usual, and he was startled by it.  He had a tendency to forget that she was just nineteen; he didn't think he had ever met anyone more world-weary than Natasha, and it was easy to fall into thinking she was much older than her years.

Which made the next thing she said even more startling and incongruous.

"Did you know that I've never had sex because I wanted to?" she said, her voice soft and a little uncertain.

Clint's breath caught in his throat, and he coughed a little.  Of course he knew what kind of work she did for the Russians, and he knew the kind of sexist bullshit female spies had to put up with, that they were expected to use their bodies to get information and get close to their targets, but he didn't want to think about Natasha, particularly teenage Natasha, having to do that sort of thing.  It was distasteful in theory, but the reality of what she just told him made him feel... well, he didn't know how it made him feel.  Sick and sad and angry on her behalf, and he wanted to go hunt down the people that took an innocent little girl and ripped away that innocence.

The half-smile on her face told him that she knew what he was thinking.  "I appreciate your indignation on my behalf," she said wryly, "But I didn't tell you that to make you feel sorry for me."

He put his nearly-empty paper cup on the end table and turned back to her, forcing his fuzzy brain to try and parse her meaning.  "So why did you tell me?" he asked, maybe a little too flatly, but he was past the point of subtlety.

With a one-shouldered shrug, she leaned back against the arm of the couch, carefully dropping the vodka bottle down to the floor.  "You were sharing," she said. "You're trusting me with your secrets.  I felt it was right to reciprocate."

That answer frustrated him.  He didn't want her to tell him things just because he'd gotten a little drunk and spilled his guts.  He didn't want her to feel obligated to trust him. He just... he just wanted her to trust him.

She read that in his face, too.  He knew he wasn't an easy person to read--he'd spent years perfecting expressionlessness--but she could see right through him.  It unnerved him even as it made him like her even more.

And suddenly she was crawling into his lap, settling her curvy little body against his, and the vodka haze lifted and threw his brain into startling clarity.  "Nat, what--" he started to say, but she pressed her soft lips against his, her tongue pushing into his mouth, and shock made him tense underneath her.

Because goddamn it, the kiss felt so fucking good, and that was so fucking wrong.  He wanted to peel her clothes off and kiss every inch of her body, to grab her hips and pull her against the erection that was suddenly and painfully tenting his pants, and that was very, very fucking wrong, no matter how right it felt.

He caught her shoulders in his hands, gently pushing her just far enough away that the kiss was broken.  "What--?" she said, and a little part of him was pleased to see that she was a little flushed and a little breathless.

"Nat, you're drunk," he said, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm not," she replied.

"You just drank like, half a bottle of vodka by yourself."

Her lips curved into a scowl.  "I'm not drunk, Clint," she said sharply. "Trust me.  With my metabolism, it takes more vodka than that to impair my judgement.  Do you want me to stand up and walk in a straight line?  I can touch my fingertips to my nose if that will convince--"

"Fine!" he exclaimed. "I believe you.  But if you aren't drunk, then why are you in my lap?"

The look she gave him was superbly disdainful.  "I'm in your lap because I want to kiss you," she said slowly and clearly, as if she was reconsidering his intelligence level.

She leaned in again, and Clint just barely managed to stop himself from meeting her lips.  He leaned back instead, holding onto her shoulders and trying to keep a little distance between them.  "Natasha, stop," he said, trying not to think about how good her body felt beneath his hands. "I don't... stop, Nat.  I don't want you to do this out of... obligation--"

Her hand clapped over his mouth, and she leaned in very close, looking him right in the eye.  "I'm not doing this because I feel obligated," she said, her voice soft and a little dangerous. "It's not because I owe you a debt.  It's because I want to.  I want you.  I want to have sex with you."

"Oh Jesus Christ," he muttered, his voice muffled by her hand, and he tugged it away so he could speak clearly. "Why?  I mean... why me?"

Sitting up, she licked her lips and then pursed them in thought.  "Because I'm attracted to you," she said, and that made his cock twitch in his pants. "And because I like you.  I trust you with this."

That made his heart stutter in his chest.  He couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he did the best thing he could think of: he slid both of his hands into her hair and pulled her into the best damn kiss he could muster.

She made a little sound in the back of her throat, something between surprise and pleasure, and he wanted to hear her make that sound over and over again.  Her hands on his shoulders, she wiggled her body closer to his, the heat of her pressed right up against his dick.  Part of him was still convinced that having sex with his nineteen year old partner was the wrongest thing he'd done in a life full of bad decisions, but she wanted him and he wanted her, and she had never had sex with a man just because she wanted to, just for the pleasure and intimacy and sheer fun of fucking.  He wanted to show her how good sex could be when you were with someone you liked and who liked you back.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, something that would derail this whole damn thing, and he broke away from her delicious mouth.  "Wait," he gasped. "Wait, I don't have a condom or anything--"

"Doesn't matter," she murmured, slicking her tongue across his bottom lip. "We're both clean, and I can't get pregnant."

Well, that was that, Clint thought, his brain short circuiting at the thought of fucking her like that, with no barrier between them.  Natasha pressed her lips together, giving him an intense look.  "Are you all right with that?" she asked, and that little hint of uncertainty was back in her voice.

He swallowed hard and brushed her hair back from her face, running his fingers through the long curls.  "Yes," he said, his voice hoarse, and she smiled at him as he kissed her again.

He'd kissed a fair number of women in his time, and none of them could hold a candle to Natasha.  She dug her short fingernails into his shoulders, rocking her hips as she stroked her tongue against his.  She kissed him like she meant it, like she'd wanted to kiss him for ages, like she'd never tasted anything better than his mouth.

Disentangling his hands from her hair, he slid them down her back, groaning as she arched and writhed under his touch, and cupped her firm ass like he’d been illicitly daydreaming about doing for, oh, a year by that point.  She made a soft sound of pleasure again, fingers catching the zipper on his tac vest and drawing it down swiftly.

She shoved the vest back off of his shoulders, and he wrestled his arms out of it, trying to not dislodge her from his lap.  His t-shirt came off next, whipped over his head and tossed somewhere out of sight and out of mind.  Sitting back on his thighs, she pulled her own shirt over her head and unhooked her bra one-handed, dropping it to the floor.

Clint felt like a complete caveman but her breasts were magnificent, and he had to get his hands on them right then.  Her expression was a bit hesitant, and he was suddenly reminded that no one had ever touched her for her pleasure before.  Determined to make every second of this good for her, he skimmed his fingers across her collarbone first, watching the tension melt away from her shoulders.

Dipping his fingertip into the hollow at the base of her throat, he leaned forward and chased the path of his fingers with his mouth, brushing kisses along the soft skin of her throat.  Her bare breasts brushed tantalizingly against his chest, and she slid her fingers into his hair, sighing softly.

She smelled good, faintly like the cheap soap in the hotel shower, but underneath that was the scent of her skin.  He wanted to breathe her in, to taste her, so he ran his tongue up the column of her throat and she tasted just as good as she smelled.

Her fingers closed on his hair and she pulled his head back, giving him a breathless smile with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.  Taking his wrists in her surprisingly strong grip, she brought his hands up, placing them on the warm curves of her breasts.

Now that he had her permission, he cupped them, testing their weight and firmness in his hands, slowly stroking his thumbs around the edge of her nipples until she was taking shivery little breaths, arching her back and pressing herself into his hands.

Taking a deep breath, he dragged his thumbs across the already-hard peaks of her nipples, and no, that was the sound he wanted to hear over and over, a husky moan of pleasure.  She made it again and again, rolling her hips with increasing desperation as he teased her.  “Do you like this?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Oh god, yes,” she breathed, biting her bottom lip again, and damned if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

When he dipped his head and caught her nipple gently between his teeth, she cried out his name, her hands fisting in his hair again, and he was particularly proud of himself that she was shuddering against him in seconds flat.  It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but obviously it was like riding a bike; you never forget how to drive a girl crazy.

Switching back and forth, he sucked and licked and nibbled until she was writhing in his lap, grinding against the ridge in his pants.  A blush spread down from her cheeks and across her chest, staining the tops of her breasts pink, and she had bitten her bottom lip until it was red.  She was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.

He wrapped his hands around the curve of her ass and hefted himself to his feet, groaning a little when she wrapped her strong legs around his waist.  It was a little difficult to make it into the bedroom without running into anything, what with her fingernails digging into his shoulders and her tongue tracing the stubbled line of his jaw, but he persevered and even managed to crawl onto the bed without dropping her.

Laying her on her back, he used stripping off her pants as an excuse to bury his face between her breasts again.  She squirmed a little, letting out a throaty chuckle that absolutely delighted him.  It was this close to a giggle, and he had never even imagined Natasha giggling before.  Lifting his head, he found her grinning at him, an actual grin with teeth and everything.  He thought she was a beautiful woman anyway, but seeing her relaxed and smiling at him, still flushed, made his heart thump a little harder.

“What’s next?” she asked breathlessly.

“What do you want next?” he asked in reply, slipping his fingers underneath her panties and slowly drawing them down her legs.

She bit her bottom lip again, white teeth tugging at the plump flesh, and he decided that seeing her do that just might be his favorite thing about her.  It was girlish and sexy and a little vulnerable, and he would never have imagined her doing it.  Girlish and vulnerable were two words he would never have thought to associate with her (sexy, on the other hand...), and he felt strangely honored that she would let him see this side of her.

“I don’t know,” she said, the corner of her mouth turning up. “Why don’t you surprise me?”

He, of course, knew exactly what he wanted to do to her gorgeous body, and the thought of getting his tongue between her thighs sent whatever blood was left in his brain rushing down to his already throbbing cock.  “How about this,” he said, steadying himself with his hand on the edge of the bed. “If I start doing something you don’t like or don’t want me to do, tell me to stop.  Does that work?”

That half-smile slowly spread all the way across her beautiful mouth, and she nodded at him.  “And what if I like what you’re doing?” she asked, her voice dropping into a purr that made his pants suddenly feel like they were about three sizes too small.

He flashed her a grin that made her cheeks flush a little pinker.  “I’m sure you can think of some way to let me know.”

Wrapping his arm underneath her back, he scooted her up the bed until her head was on the pillows, and then he kissed his way back down her body.   
Clint Barton was an observant man.  It was partly because of his job and partly just his nature; he noticed everything going on around him, and he was pretty good at reading people.  So he turned those powers of observation to mapping out Natasha’s body, learning the spots that made her sigh or laugh or moan, and after a few seconds, it became obvious to him that her whole body was an erogenous zone of one kind or another.

He had to force himself away from her breasts with the promise of what was waiting for him a little further down.  Flattening himself out on his stomach, he wrapped his hands around her thighs and spread her legs, lifting them up so that she was wide open for him.  A quick glance up her body showed her biting her lip, watching him intensely, and he pressed a kiss against the inside of her thigh, feeling her relax a little under his grip.

She let out a little cry when he pressed his tongue against her clit, and within seconds flat she was thrusting her hips against his mouth, both hands clutching her breasts, and Clint was so turned on by it that he was humping the bed like a goddamn teenage boy.  This particular erogenous zone spawned short, gasping cries, higher pitched than the other sounds she’d been making but equally and intensely sexy.

Her clit was firm and swollen against his tongue, and he loved the way her whole body would jerk and shiver as he licked it.  Quickly, though, he realized that her thighs were tensing up under his hands, and even though he was dying to make her come, he wanted to stretch this out as long as he could, so he backed off a little.  Her disgruntled noise made him chuckle; the noise turned into a sharp cry when he slid his tongue down her slit and buried it inside her pussy.

“Oh god,” she gasped, her hands fisting in the sheet and her back arching.

Fucking her with his tongue was just as good as he imagined it would be (not that he’d imagined it... much).  She fought against his grip on her legs, trying to push her hips up against his mouth to get his tongue in deeper, and she was so wet that the entire lower half of his face was slick with her.  She tasted like heaven and hell wrapped up in one body, and he had no idea if this was a one time thing or what, but if he never got to taste her cunt again, a part of him was going to shrivel up and die.

He’d just gotten into a really good groove, circling her clit with his tongue before plunging it back inside of her over and over, when she suddenly gripped his hair hard, pulling him away.  “Tasha?” he said, releasing her legs and pushing himself up to look at her.

“It’s too much,” she panted with a slightly hysterical laugh.

She caught his wrist and pulled him forward, sitting up and kissing the hell out of him.  With a start, he realized that she was trying to taste herself on his lips, and that made him groan and wrap his arms around her, twisting so that he was on his back and she was draped over his chest.

Breaking the kiss, she propped herself up on one hand, tracing her thumb across his bottom lip.  “You okay?” he asked, a little concerned by the suddenly pensive look on her face.

But she gave him a little smile.  “It’s just... no one’s ever done that to me before,” she said. “I was so close, but I just... couldn’t.”

He reached up and smoothed her hair back from her face, stroking the soft skin of her cheek.  Knowing that he was the first person to taste her like that made him simultaneously want to do a victory dance and... cuddle her or something.  He fucking loved taking a woman apart with his mouth, and he was suddenly, really desperate to do it for her.

“I have an idea,” he said, steering her up onto her knees.

She raised an eyebrow at his manhandling, but as soon as she realized that he was trying to get her to straddle his head, her lips parted and she looked anxious and excited all at the same time.  “You’re in control, sweetheart,” he said.

The raised eyebrow came back with a vengeance.  “Sweetheart?” she scoffed.

Clint grinned up at her from between her thighs, sliding his hands around to cup her ass.  “Get used to it, baby,” he teased, and she cracked a grin at him.

“You’re in charge, Tash,” he said, and her expression faded back to seriousness. “You know how to make yourself come.  Do you wanna ride my face until you come?”

“Oh fuck,” she breathed, biting her lip. “Yes.”

He wordlessly tugged on her hips, and she adjusted her legs until she could lower her pussy down to his mouth.  Cutting his eyes up so he could watch her, he snaked his tongue back into her folds, picking up the same pattern from before.  Her face screwed up with concentration as she started grinding against his face, leaning back to brace herself with a hand on his hip.

Her body was a pale arc stretched over him, taut and tense and absurdly beautiful, and he almost wished he could reach down and take care of himself, but he shook off that desire quickly.  This was about her, not him, and he was going to focus every single ounce of his considerable concentration on making her feel fucking amazing.

He noticed that her thighs would tense when he focused his tongue on her clit, so he bore down on the hard little bud, licking for all he was worth, and she bucked against his mouth, her earlier breathy moans now bleeding into a rising whine.  Her eyes were clenched shut, her free hand tugging at her nipple, but when he closed his lips around her clit and gently shook his head back and forth, that hand came down to grab hold his hair almost painfully hard, holding him still against her.

She came so hard that he seriously wondered if she might bring the building down with the sheer force of her orgasm.

Crying out something that could’ve been a curse or it could’ve just been nonsense, she shuddered hard, her thighs closing around his head (he quickly found himself worrying for his own bodily safety, as he’d seen what she could do with those thighs) as she spasmed in ecstasy.

After a long, nearly-suffocating moment, she went limp, slumping forward to hang onto the headboard for dear life, and Clint took a deep, sweet breath of air scented with her body.  He stroked her thighs and hips, humming wordlessly, and when she had caught her breath, she looked down at him with a near-unreadable expression on her face.  She looked sated and pleased and maybe a little intimidated, but then she gave him a crooked smile that made his heart thump against his ribs.

“Let’s get these pants off of you,” she said, her voice husky from crying out.

His eyebrows crawled up toward his hairline when she swiftly turned around, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with expert fingers.  He helpfully lifted his hips when she shoved the pants and his boxer-briefs down and even more helpfully kicked the last of his clothes off of his feet and to the floor when they were around his ankles.

And then she was going down on him.

“Oh holy fucking shit,” he groaned as her tongue dragged a slick line from the head of his dick all the way down to the base. “Tash... Tasha, you don’t have to--”

“Shut the fuck up, Clint,” she interrupted with a low laugh. “I want to suck your cock.”

There was really no protesting that, and he was happy to let the lady do whatever she wanted to him.  And her tongue was really, really clever, swirling over his flesh and finding his sensitive spots just as quickly as he had found hers.

Not wanting her to feel like she was doing all the work, he framed her pussy, which was hovering over his face, with his hands and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her, enjoying the way she exhaled a cool breath against his damp cock at the feeling.  And then she wrapped her soft lips around the head of his cock and began slowly swallowing him down, and the whole thing just turned into a blur of sucking and licking, the salty-sweet taste of her cunt and the feel of her hot mouth around him.

He was making an embarrassing amount of noise, humming and groaning against her pussy (which wrung gorgeous little shivers out of her every time he did it), but she sucked cock better than he thought was humanly possible.  In fact, she was sucking his cock so well that this was going to be over really fast.

“Tasha, Tasha, you gotta stop,” he gasped, his head falling back onto the pillow. “Stop, honey--”

She hummed a negative, which sent little shocks of pleasure zinging right into his groin, and oh Jesus, this was getting way out of hand.  Speaking of hands, one of hers slipped between his thighs, tickling the underside of his balls, and oh shit, he was going to come.

He tried to warn her, but all that came out was an inarticulate shout because he was suddenly coming so hard that it felt like the top of his head was going to blow off.

He expected her to pull away when he started shooting in her mouth, but she held on, bobbing her head up and down.  On each deep in-stroke, he could feel her throat working as she swallowed his come, and damned if that didn’t just prolong the orgasm even more, until he was a complete and utter wreck.

And then she kept on sucking him, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock, and he couldn’t believe it, but he was getting hard again.  He didn’t think it was physically possible (she may have been nineteen but he certainly wasn't anymore), but then he also had never gotten a blowjob from Natasha before.  He was beginning to think she was some kind of magical sex goddess or some damn thing because she was just too good to be true.

“Mmm,” she hummed, finally pulling her mouth off of his dick and giving it a final lick. “That was good.”

“That was the understatement of the century,” he wheezed, and her laugh was the best thing he had ever heard.

She slipped to the side, careful not to knee him in the face, and then crawled back on top of him the other way around, sinking her hands into his hair and kissing him.  He could taste his come on her tongue, and for reasons completely unknown to him, that turned him on beyond belief.  Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled so they were on their sides, and they kissed until he had to break away to gasp for breath.

“You’re amazing,” he rumbled, stroking his hand down her back and enjoying the way she squirmed and pressed herself against him.

His still-sensitive cock rubbed against her smooth thigh, and he groaned a little, kissing the smile that spread across her lips.  “Seems like here and there were right,” she murmured, chuckling when he gave her a quizzical look. “You know, I heard here and there that you’re pretty good in the sack?”

Grinning, he pressed his face into her hair, nudging it out of the way so he could nuzzle her neck.  “Naw,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Catching his hair in her fingers, she pulled his face away from her throat.  “You’re blushing?” she laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “Aw.  Don’t sell yourself short, Barton.”

He couldn’t resist pressing another kiss to her lips, not when she was smiling at him like that, and that kiss led to another and another until they were making out like a couple of horny teenagers.  She ended up grinding on his thigh while he humped her hip, which might have been embarrassing except she was sucking on his lower lip and purring with pleasure, and that was very, very good.

“Oh god, I want you,” she breathed against his lips, her hands skimming across his back.

She whimpered when he slid his hand between her legs, her thighs tensing, and he kissed her again, slowly this time.  His fingers slipped easily through her folds, and she was so wet that it made him groan.  “How do you want me?” he asked, pushing his middle finger inside her.

Biting her bottom lip, she rolled her hips against his hand, as if he needed encouragement to fingerfuck her.  “Oh god, I don’t know,” she laughed breathlessly. “Stop asking me and just do it.”

That made Clint laugh, and she grinned and blushed a little, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth.  “Impatient, are we?” he said, and she sank her hand into his hair and suddenly grabbed it hard.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice dropping into a breathy purr. “I’m impatient.  I want you, Clint, right now.  I need you inside me--”

“Oh fuck me,” he moaned, rolling her onto her back and settling his weight onto her gorgeous body. “You okay with this?”

The grin she gave him was halfway between fondness and exasperation.  “I’m very okay with this,” she said, hitching her legs up around his hips.

Now she was hot and wet and right up against his dick, and he was going to have to dredge the depths of his brain for baseball stats to keep this from being over way too quickly, even for a second go ‘round.  She tilted her hips so the tip of his cock slipped just inside of her, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by what they were doing.

Catching her face in his hands, he pressed a soft kiss against her lips, drawing back to find her watching him with an inscrutable look on her face.  He was getting better at reading her subtle tells, but she was a difficult person to read.  She looked turned on and a little intimidated and just as overwhelmed by this as he felt.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, bracing himself on one elbow, and her brow creased a little.

“You keep saying stuff like that,” she said, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. “Why?”

It was his turn to furrow his brow at her, because it was such an odd question to him.  Why wouldn’t he make sure she was with him every step of the way?  But, he reminded himself, no one had ever shown her that simple, natural courtesy before.  “Because...  I want this to be good for you, Tasha,” he answered, running the fingers of his free hand through the mess of curls around her face. “Because I care about you.”

Her expression went almost alarmingly transparent; she was shocked, taken aback, and then a blush crept back into her cheeks.  Reaching up, she pulled him down into a sweet kiss, canting her hips and slowly taking him inside.

Clint had long ago accepted that he wasn’t the kind of guy who’d go to heaven (if it even existed).  It just wasn’t in his cards.  Sinking inside Natasha’s pussy was the closest thing to heaven he had ever felt or probably would ever feel.

A low, guttural sound was wrenched from his throat, and he had to brace himself on his arms so he wouldn’t collapse down onto her.  Her moan echoed his, and her face went slack with pleasure as he stretched her open.

When he bottomed out, their bodies as closely joined as they could possibly be, he had to go still, close his eyes and just feel her for a long moment.  She wrapped herself around his body, legs twined around his thighs and her arms around him, hands splayed across his lower back.

“Oh,” she breathed, her body tensing a little underneath him. “Oh god, you feel so good...”

He opened his eyes to find her gazing at him, seemingly fascinated by whatever was playing across his face.  He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was feeling; he’d always been pretty good at separating sex from emotion, but paradoxically, when he fell for someone, he always fell fast and hard.

He liked Natasha.  He was fond of her, and he felt protective of her, which didn’t make sense but he felt it anyway.  He was attracted to her, of course.  But ever since they had been partnered, that sense of fondness had grown into something bigger, something that he kept shoved to the back of his mind because Jesus, what kind of an idiot falls in love with his partner?

It was probably written all over his face.  Being with her like that, bodies joined with absolutely nothing between them, was just too much.  He couldn’t keep up his poker face, and it was terrifying to feel so exposed in the face of her unwavering gaze.

But she smiled at him, her lips curving in a way he’d never seen before, something soft and intimate, and he had to kiss her right then or his heart would explode.

She hummed against his mouth, stroking her tongue against his eagerly and very slowly rolling her hips in a way that made his breath get stuck in his lungs.  Nipping her lower lip, he drew back and began thrusting in and out of her, groaning at the feel of her wet, gripping heat around his cock.

“Mmm,” she murmured, tipping her head back. “More.”

Sliding his hand back into her hair (he loved the feel of it threading between his fingers), he pressed a line of hot kisses against the silky skin of her throat and picked up the pace with his hips.  Her fingers dug into his ass, encouraging him to take her harder and faster, and who was he to argue with what the lady wanted?

He braced himself on one arm and slid the other underneath her body, hand gripping the curve of her ass and holding her still so he could fuck her hard and fast.  She let out a gasping cry, raking her short nails up his back, and then she was fucking him back, bracing her heels against the backs of his thighs and wrenching her hips up to meet his.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, pressing his face against her neck; she was too much, way too much to handle, and if he made it out of that bed alive it would be a miracle.

“Yes, yes,” she gasped, turning her face against his until she could kiss him. “Oh god yes, Clint, more!”

He noticed that if he tilted his hips a certain way, it would make her cry out a little harder, so he got his knees underneath him and lifted her hips from the mattress, pounding into her.  And oh, that certainly got a reaction; she made the best sound he had heard yet, a sharp exclamation punctuated by a full-body shudder.

So he did it again and again, eventually pushing himself up to sit on his heels so he could watch her eyes widen and her body shake with every thrust.  “Fuck, fuck,” she sobbed, holding onto his forearms so hard that he’d probably have bruises. “Oh fuck, just like that--AH!”

With a cry that could probably be heard two floors down, she tensed and arched up until only her shoulders and head were touching the bed.  Her cunt squeezed him rhythmically, clamping down so hard that he felt a little dizzy, and he would definitely have bruises from how her fingers tightened up on his arms.

Watching her come on his cock was like watching the sun rise after a hundred years of darkness; she was so fucking beautiful that he could hardly stand it, her face contorted with ecstasy, her cheeks and chest flushed and sweaty, and oh god, he _was_ in love with her.

Marshaling his powers of concentration, he focused sharply on not letting himself come.  It was a close thing, with her writhing on him like that, but he managed to hold on by his fingernails, gasping in mouthfuls of air.

When she collapsed back onto the bed, he pulled out of her, much to her disapproval.  “No!” she cried, pushing herself up on his elbows.

“Ssh,” he soothed, scooting backward. “Ssh, I need to taste you.”

Her eyes honest-to-god rolled back when he pressed his mouth against her pussy.  He just had to taste her again, had to know what she tasted like after his cock had been inside of her, and she tasted so fucking good.  He had done that partly because he needed a minute to get himself under control again, but she was moaning and wiggling her hips, and he was probably going to come on the sheets because she was just so damn sexy.

“Please,” she gasped, reaching down to tug at his hair. “Please, I need you to fuck me, Clint, please--”

Oh, he just couldn’t handle that.  Crawling up her body, he pressed his lips against hers and wrapped his arms around her, rolling them so that she was on top of him.  “Ride me,” he rumbled, and she shivered against him.

They both moaned when she sank down onto his cock.  She grasped at his hands, lacing her fingers through his, and gave him a deep, lingering kiss before pushing herself upright.  Her hair was sprawled in a mess of mussed curls over her pale shoulders, and her cheeks were stained as pink as the color of her lips.  He didn’t want to let go of her hand, but he had to touch her at that moment, had to reach up and stroke his thumb over her bottom lip and down her chin, tracing a graceful line down to the hollow of her throat.

She shivered a little, her lips curving into a soft smile, and she took his hand in hers again, holding them against her hips as she began to rock against him.  She was so beautiful, so fucking beautiful smiling down at him as she took him, looking at him like that, like he was all she needed in that moment, like a veil had been pulled back so he could see that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way about him as he did about her.

Her breasts swayed as she moved, and he let out a low moan because she was squeezing him inside her like she was purposefully trying to make him lose his mind.  Actually, she probably was trying to drive him crazy, and it made him flush a little to think that she was returning the favor.  She replied to his moan with a breathy sigh, letting her head fall back for a second as she rolled her hips.

This wasn’t how he had expected it to end.  He had been imagining enthusiastic sex, maybe even a little rough but at the very least fast and hard and desperate.  This was desperate, but it was a completely new kind of desperation, one that was heard in soft sighs and moans, felt in grasping hands and the silken glide of skin on skin, seen in the parting of lips and the blossom of heat in each other’s eyes.

It was slow and intense and so good that he knew he’d never be able to sleep with another woman without comparing her to Natasha.

He never wanted to sleep with another woman.  Which was a pretty unusual feeling for Clint.

Natasha’s breathing started to get shaky and her hands clutched his harder, and he could feel her cunt starting to tighten up around him.  He was quickly rocketing toward orgasm, and he needed to ask her one last question before his higher brain functions shut down completely.  “Should... should I pull out?” he panted, bucking his hips up into her. “When I come?”

She shook her head, her red hair fluttering around her shoulders.  “No,” she said. “No, I want you to come inside me.  I’ve never... I want you to be the first to do that.”

His breath shuddered out of him as if he’d been punched in the gut.  This whole time, he had been trying to suppress the feeling that he was making her his; he wasn’t a particularly possessive sort of guy, but now he couldn’t push away that feeling any more.  He would be the first man to come inside of her, and that caveman buried deep in the primitive part of his brain said that made her his woman, his and his alone.

He was suddenly possessed by the need to get his arms around her, to kiss her and look her right in the eyes when she came and he followed her over that cliff.  She wrapped her legs around his waist when he sat upright, curling her arms around his shoulders as he wrapped his around her back, sliding one hand down to her ass to guide her movements against him.

Their lips met again, and the kiss was almost languid, a stark contrast to the increasing desperation of movement in the lower halves of their bodies.  Natasha was grinding against him, her stuttering gasps melting into a moan that made him feel lightheaded, it was so husky and gorgeous.  Her head fell back again, breaking the kiss, and she gasped his name, shuddering hard against him.

Cupping the back of her head in one hand, he brought her face back to his, holding her gaze as he held her tight, desperately trying to stay in control of his own body as she lost control of hers.  She tightened her legs around his waist, her body wringing out a few final shivers before she gasped in a deep breath, bringing her hands up to stroke his cheeks.

“God, you’re so good,” she breathed, her fingertips playing at his jaw as her thumbs stroked down his throat. “You’re so good to me--”

He groaned as she started moving again, and with his hand on her hip, he showed her the pace he liked, how to move her body the way he needed.  She swallowed his next groan with a kiss, moving perfectly on his cock, and he could feel an orgasm building at the base of his spine, welling up inside of him until he was afraid he might suffocate under its weight.

“I want to make this good for you,” she whispered against his lips, and he let out an honest-to-god whimper, gripping her hips tight. “I want to make you come, Clint--”

He couldn’t say anything coherent in response to that because her voice was too throaty, her words too sexy, her body warm and strong in his hands, her pussy slick and tight and hot, and he was suddenly coming with what felt like the force of a nuclear bomb going off.

It was her turn to hold him tight, pressing kisses against his lips, face, neck, as he shuddered and bucked, spilling inside of her.  As it slowly banked, leaving him shivering and more than a little weak, he whispered her name over and over in between almost-chaste kisses pressed against her parted lips.

She clung to him, kissing him back, stroking his face with a tenderness he would never have expected from her, and he had to swallow down the sudden swell of emotion inside of him.  Nothing would ever be better than this, and he was completely, irreversibly head over heels for her.

***

Clint slipped into the shower behind her, grinning when she aimed a rather sassy look at him, but then she slipped back into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as the lukewarm spray washed away the physical evidence of what they had just done.  He had been afraid that it would turn out to be too much for her to deal with; he knew she was passionate and emotional, but she hid so much of it even around him, and it would hurt like a bitch if she were to turn away from him and go distant again.

But she cuddled up against him, pressing a kiss against a scar on his collarbone, and he ran his hands over her wet hair and down her back.

They ended up lounging in bed together, and that felt more intimate to him than anything else they had done.  She curled up against his side, stroking his skin, and she smiled again when he switched their positions.  He wanted to touch her, to memorize the feel of her skin under his fingertips, to burn that smile into his memory to fill lonely nights.

In the falling twilight, they talked about everything and nothing at all: the music he’d listened to as a kid, the sight of the sun rising over the endless snows of the Russia of her childhood.  She grinned when he told her he’d been trained as an acrobat, and he made a mental note of it when she said her favorite flavor of ice cream was mint chocolate chip.  

(He’d introduced her to ice cream in New York a couple of months after she’d defected.  He had been appalled that she’d never had good ice cream when she was a kid, because in his opinion, every kid deserves good ice cream.)

It was back to strict professionalism for the flight back and their debriefing, but she bumped her shoulder against his when they got up from the conference table, and he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.

On their next mission, they ended up stuck in a safe house outside Buenos Aires for twelve potentially dull hours of downtime, sadly with no bottle of vodka to keep them company.  But Natasha crawled into his lap again, and those were twelve hours well spent.

As she lay in his arms afterward, her fingertips tracing invisible patterns on his chest, she told him her story.


End file.
